


An Ocean on the Rooftop

by attfna



Series: Photosynthesis [1]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Dumb Metaphors, First Meetings, Gardening, Gen, M/M, Neil didn't go to PSU, Rooftops, Witness Protection, is this cucumber a euphemism, quiet boys, who the fuck keeps leaving fruit on my balcony
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:53:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25873927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/attfna/pseuds/attfna
Summary: Neil is fresh out of witness protection but still wary of the world. He starts a rooftop garden as a way to try something 'normal' for once and when it's destroyed, the most unlikely person helps him pick up the pieces.
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Series: Photosynthesis [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1878751
Comments: 24
Kudos: 294





	An Ocean on the Rooftop

**Author's Note:**

> Idk I came up with this idea this morning and here it is. It alternated between Neil and Andrew's POV's and as usual has not been beta-ed. 
> 
> Rating: T (language, mentions of past canon trauma and mentions of panic attacks)  
> ~*~ 
> 
> All credit to Nora, I own nothing.

Neil Josten tugged on the small silver pendant hanging from a chain around his neck. He pressed his fingers to the pointed edges and pulled it along the chain to hear the noise it made as it slid back and forth, metal to metal. He didn’t look down. He knew it was there and knew what the engraving read, etched lightly into the surface. It was his name. _Neil Josten_. Nothing more. 

As the sun rose over the urban skyline the colors bled onto the building tops, encasing the darkened world in shades of orange and red. He’d been up here too long already but sometimes he liked to see his efforts framed by the light of day. Neil dropped his hand to his side and looked down at the flowers and greenery before him, neatly nestled, safe in their wooden planters. 

The plants, like the necklace, had been another step to becoming a normal person. At  first they had been abstract ideas – his therapist grasping at straws  as a way to get him to believe he was a real person, to take an interest in something other than the idea of  _ just surviving _ . To take an interest in  _ living _ . The necklace was to ground him, to remind him that he was _Neil_ now. And would be until he died. He was real and he mattered. 

The garden was to get him out of his apartment. At  first he thought he was being clever, picking a ‘hobby’ that only had him climbing five flights of stairs rather than  actually venturing out into the world. But he liked it. He liked the pre-dawn hours where his hands were covered in dirt and dewdrops clung to the leaves like tiny reflecting pools. What he liked less was jumping out of his skin every time a door slammed on the floor below or a bird got a hold of a candy wrapper, wrinkling it obnoxiously on the quiet rooftop. He never expected to keep up with the garden but since, so far, he’d been able to do it without interruption he kept returning. 

Tending to his flowers and fruits and vegetables also had a few other incentives. It meant he had to order less for his grocery deliveries. It meant he got in decent exercise that worked different muscles than the monotonous routine of running on his treadmill and then doing body weight exercises on the yoga mat in his living room. It also had the perk of being a conversation starter. Well. Maybe not. Maybe one day. But it did help him get someone's attention. The first person he’d willingly talked to in-person that wasn’t a delivery driver or the occasional clerk at a store on the rare  occurrences he had to leave the apartment. 

The person in question was his next-door neighbor – Andrew Minyard. He was short, blond and angry looking. Usually draped in black from head to toe with aggressive looking boots and several silver rings in his ears. He had a public record that detailed his abuse as a child after his twin stopped an attack from one of his abusers. The article exposed the gritty details of the man’s sad start in life – separated from his brother, dumped in foster care, abused and incarcerated as a juvenile from an act he committed to escape the abuse, reunited with his brother only for their biological mother to die in a car crash and months later ordered to take medication after assaulting four men who attacked his cousin. Somehow after everything that had happened, Andrew had been recruited to play  Exy in college, a newer sport that was a bastardization of lacrosse and hockey. Neil used to play when he was little and once dreamed of going pro, so he was well-aware of how violent the games were. Andrew was exactly the type of person Neil should be worried about, but for some reason he wasn’t. He had been at first, making sure he avoided the blond at all costs in his own infrequent comings and goings. He never stepped foot on the balcony, which he shared with Andrew, the platforms only separated by 12 inches and iron railing. Overtime he realized that Andrew, of all his neighbors (who he had of course looked up as well), was the least threatening. Sure, he glared at Neil when they happened to pass each other near the mailboxes or when Neil came out to water the plants on his balcony when he started using it, but that was where the animosity stopped. Andrew was a creature of quiet habit. He left the same time and returned at the same time on the weekdays. He went out on Friday nights. The only people Neil ever saw enter his place were his family – the ones he’d read about in the article. He wasn’t sure what he actually did with his time (he knew he hadn’t gone pro after college – Neil would have seen him in a game since he filled much of his time watching sports programs), but whatever he did it was probably mundane and normal. Andrew was safe. 

And because he was safe, Neil took another piece of his  therapists advice. 

_ “Talk to someone,” said Dr. Bevin, head tilting to the side as she surveyed him through the screen.  _

_ “Talk to someone,” he parroted back.  _

_ “Yes. For pleasure. Not necessity. Even if you just ask them how their day was or talk about the weather.” _

_ “What good will that do? I don’t care about their day or the weather,” he said bitterly, frowning into his own screen. He never agreed to make her job easy, even if he did decide to continue going after his court-ordered sessions were up. _

_ “Perhaps not. But you took a big step when you left witness protection. You chose to become someone. The world deserves to know the person you fought so hard to become.” _

_ “The world....” he said, chest tight with carefully controlled panic.  _

_ “I hope so, one day. But perhaps now we can start with a single person.” _

He had no intention on following through. He was content to stand next to Andrew while the blond smoked on his balcony, one of his cats threading between his ripped jeans. Neil liked the smell of the smoke and found himself leaning a little closer, inhaling the acrid scent that reminded him of his mother. It was one of the few sense memories that calmed him instead of led him towards a panic attack. He used to buy cigarettes himself but now it was getting harder to have them delivered with his other groceries and so Andrew’s proximity was the best he could do. 

After six months of living next to each other, the suspicious glaring finally stopped only to be replaced with bored apathy. When Andrew looked his way at all, at least, which was rare. It had been no different that night. Andrew leaned quietly over the railing with a cigarette perched between his lips and his cats watching through the metal rails, eyes seeking out birds or the hustle and bustle on the streets below. Neil’s heart clenched every time one of the furry creatures would lean out too  far but he never voiced his fear. Instead he watered his plants and minded his business. At least until one of the felines hopped the foot between their balconies, landing easily on the concrete of Neil’s platform. His heart was in his throat, imagining all the things that could have gone wrong had the animal miscalculated the distance. The quiet hitch in his breath caught Andrew’s attention. 

Andrew plucked the stick from his mouth, the smoke leaking from his lungs and disappearing on the wind. He turned his head just a fraction to look at Neil. “ ..... It is a cat....”

He said it with such finality, as if that should reassure Neil about everything he felt. It didn’t and he frowned in return. The cat seemed as unperturbed as  it’s owner, however, and weaved around Neil’s tanned calves. It was summer and he’d been living in basketball shorts and cotton shirts for weeks. 

“Can I  pet him?” asked Neil, looking shocked that his thoughts had somehow made it out of his mouth. 

His voice nearly cracked with disuse and Andrew turned to face him, leaning with an elbow on the railing now. 

“Yes. And it’s a ‘she’”, he replied, taking another drag of his cigarette. 

Neil crouched down and ran a tentative hand across the animals back. She arched into the touch and butted his knee with her head. 

“If it’s a ‘she’ why did you name her ‘Sir?’” asked Neil, looking shocked at himself yet again. 

Andrew smirked around the rolled tobacco. It was the closest thing Neil had seen to a smile on the man’s face despite it not really being friendly. 

“I just ....I heard you call her...once...”

Smoke puffed out into the breeze as Andrew huffed at him. “ So, what...you’re here to lecture me about the enforcing the outdated gender binary on cats?”

“You’re the one who said she was a girl...” muttered Neil. 

“And you are the one who implied she needed a ‘girl’ name,” countered Andrew. 

Neil’s head shot up to glare at the shorter man but faltered at the intensity with which he was being watched. Andrew's hazel eyes were muted gold in the dying sunlight and the look he was giving Neil was more contemplative than anything. Like he was trying to solve a particularly hard math problem. It made Neil feel equally seen and uncomfortable. He stood and watched Sir jump back onto Andrew’s balcony, flinching again. He shoved his hands in his shorts, scuffing the toe of his bare foot on the concrete. 

“Well thanks...” he said quietly, trying to meet Andrew’s stare but having to turn away from the weight of it. “For letting me pet her.”

Andrew said nothing, only propped the cigarette back between his lips and tapped two fingers to his temple in a mock salute. Neil hurried back into his apartment and closed the heavy curtains. It was a few hours later when he finally realized what he’d done. He’d talked to someone. Not for any great length of time or about anything important...but he’d  actually spoken to someone by choice and...it wasn’t terrible. 

* * *

The first time a cucumber showed up on his balcony, Andrew’s first thought was confusion. Was it some weird euphemism or practical joke from his cousin or twin? Unlikely. No one had keys to his apartment. He’d even changed the locks so the landlord couldn’t get in even though it was strictly against the leasing policy. He threw the fruit away. He certainly wasn’t eating something when he didn’t know where it had come from. The next day a tomato was there, leaving him equally perplexed. Was one of the obnoxious children from the apartment above tossing their parents groceries off their own balcony? On the third day there was a sunflower. It was small for a sunflower, as far as he knew, and more suspiciously – it was sitting in one of his empty planters. The metal bins had been there since he moved in, one on each side railing. Nicky had tried to get him to grow things in them, even bringing over a few herb plants and flowers but they had quickly died since Andrew wasn’t interested enough to tend to them. The chances that a flower had fallen from a higher apartment and landed in his planter was next to impossible. He was on the fourth floor and it was windy enough that it seemed impossible. His eyes had landed on the balcony next door. 

The guy was practically a recluse. He was quiet enough, but Andrew often heard him walking around at all hours on his days off or when he called out to take a mental health day. He heard the knocks and caught glimpses of people making deliveries on the weekends. But other than hearing faint mumbling though the walls, sometimes in languages he didn’t recognize (sometimes in German), it was always quiet. Even the mumbling was just his neighbor on the phone or laptop – it was always his voice. Andrew surmised he worked from home and didn’t go out much. But he did sneak up to the roof when he didn’t think anyone was paying attention. 

Andrew used to go up there at night sometimes himself, until very recently. It was a good place to smoke or sit with a bottle of whisky and clear his head. He liked staring down at the city, being able to see everything even when it sounded so far away. He’d caught his neighbor going up a few times early in the morning, usually before the sun was even up. Andrew had only been awake due to nightmares launching him from perfectly good REM sleep, leaving him in desperate need of caffeine and fresh air. He’d started to go up to the roof but when he recognized the redhead sneaking through the broken lock he’d thought better of it. He clearly looked like he wanted to be alone and Andrew did as well. 

Unfortunately, his safe space had been tainted when a handful of college kids moved into the vacant apartment on the sixth floor. They’d taken to drinking and partying on the roof at night and Andrew had stuck to his balcony ever since. 

As he recounted the memories his brain started to put together the puzzle. That perhaps the garden he'd seen on the roof belonged to redhead and he was the one leaving mysterious vegetation on Andrew’s balcony. On the fourth day there was nothing, but on the fifth day there was another tomato. Andrew made sure he had it in his hand when he went out to smoke that night, waiting for redhead to show up and water his plants like he always did at eight o’clock. Maybe he should learn the  guys name so he could stop referring to him as ‘ _redhead_ _’_ or ‘ _really nice calves_ ’ guy in his head. 

As if on cue, the sliding door  opened and redhead padded onto his balcony with a small watering can. He didn’t speak, didn’t even look at Andrew, just tended to his plants with tedious care. 

Andrew stubbed out his cigarette on his railing, dropping the stub into the empty flowerpot in the planter on the far side of his own balcony before turning towards the man. He tossed the tomato a couple feet in the air and caught it. 

“This yours?” he asked, tossing it again. 

The man turned, still holding the little orange watering can, brows furrowed. “It’s yours, actually.”

The tomato landed in his palm and Andrew dropped his hand to his side. “Why? Trying to poison me?”

He knew redhead wasn’t trying to poison  him but an accusation might at least get him talking. He was even more tight-lipped than Andrew and that was a rare novelty. 

“....To...thank you?”

Andrew wasn’t sure if it was a question or a statement. Redhead seemed equally confused about his own words. 

“Thank me,” he deadpanned. “For what?”

Redhead shrugged and turned back to watering his plants. “For letting me pet your cat.”

It seemed such a ridiculous thing to appreciate that Andrew just lit another cigarette, turning to stare out over the city and not think about how vulnerable his _ stupid  _ neighbor looked while  _ thanking him _ for letting him pet a goddamn animal. 

After redhead finishing his watering he leaned over the balcony and Andrew noted the deep breaths he took from his periphery. Just another interesting piece of the puzzle – a man who didn’t smoke seeming to enjoy the smell. No, not interesting.  _ Dumb _ . Pointless. He stubbed out his second cigarette and turned to head inside but as soon as he opened the door the cats darted out and this time King jumped across the ledge. The redhead immediately crouched down to pet her, swearing quietly under his breath, another indication that the cats death-defying leaps of faith still bothered him. Letting out a sigh, Andrew paused with his hand on the door. 

“I’m Andrew,” he said quietly, staring at his own reflection in the glass. 

Redhead looked up, the cat jumping a little to reach his hand now. “Oh...um. I’m Neil.”

Andrew nodded once and left him...left _Neil_...to his cats. It was a half hour before they scratched at the door to be let back in. 

* * *

On the first Friday in August, Neil woke up in a cold sweat. The day before had been particularly taxing since he’d decided to talk about his father again in his session with Dr. Bevin and it had led to another sleepless night where the ghosts of his past tormented him in his dreams. He still managed to drag himself up to the roof after two cups of coffee. It was still cool since the sun hadn’t yet risen. The breeze and the early morning sounds of the city helped clear his mind as much as the smell of tiger lilies and freshly picked cucumbers. For two hours he pruned, plucked, and watered and by the time he left the sun had finally climbed higher than the surrounding buildings. 

Back in his apartment Neil put away his haul and tried not to think about the rest of the day. He distracted himself by running on the treadmill, making himself a small breakfast of eggs, toast, and fresh strawberries. After cleaning up the kitchen he left a small bunch of strawberries and two cut carnations on Andrew’s balcony. It was easier to slide them over now. After Andrew had introduced himself, a few slabs of wood mysteriously appeared between their balconies the next day. They had notches to fit around the railings and slid together perfectly, creating a little walkway between their balconies about a foot wide. Andrew didn’t say anything about it the next time they saw each other but Neil breathed easier as the cats walked back and forth freely and safely. It had been almost two months since then. Two months since he started leaving offerings on Andrews balcony and Andrew offered him the occasional brief conversation. The truth was he grew more than he needed. Sometimes people would steal from the garden. He’d notice flowers had been cut or missing vegetables he’d planned on picking the next day, but he didn’t mind. It was the solitude and the busy work that he craved more than anything. And being able to grow something with his bare hands was a nice perk. He wasn’t sure if Andrew even used the things Neil left for him but he took them without comment. 

Despite the ease of being in each other's company in complete silence, they still rarely spoke. He still knew nothing about Andrew other than what he had been able to google and barely gave Andrew anything real in return. Their longest conversation had been about the ugliness of the new billboard across the intersection that advertised expensive, designer sunglasses. But there were words between them at least, freely given and accepted without expectation. When Neil told Dr.  Bevin she had called it ‘progress.’ 

Thinking about his shrink nearly sent him into another tailspin so he shoved down the thoughts and headed for the shower. He still had the rest of the day to get through and it wouldn’t be easy. The first Friday of the month was never a good day. It was when he had to turn in his monthly reports to the corporate office and sit down for a brief supervision with his boss. He had been lucky enough to use his knack for languages to find a decent paying job that didn’t require his physical presence very often. While sequestered away in witness protection after his  fathers death, before the rest of his underlings were caught, Neil built on those skills by earning a bachelors degree online in language studies. He was fluent and literate in English, German, French, Russian and Spanish and could speak a few others conversationally. The proficiency landed him a career as a translator for a law firm. Most of his work consisted of transcribing legal documents and audio recordings but he still had to show up once a month according to his contract. And he hated it. 

He chose to leave witness protection after the last of his  fathers men were rounded up and that had been two years ago. He’d only been in his current location for nine months but still dreaded leaving the house. He spent  all of his time looking over his shoulder, wondering if there was someone they missed, someone who wasn’t in prison who would find him and drag him back to that basement. The first time he’d been forced to go into the office he had a panic attack halfway down the block and had to call his boss to reschedule. It had gotten easier since then, but it was still stressful and difficult. Today was no different. 

Neil dressed in gray slacks, black boots, a blue button up and a gray tie. He grabbed his leather messenger bag that held his laptop and reports and left the building, fingers digging into his palms so hard they nearly bled. It was too hot to wear the long-sleeved shirt out but having his scars on display wasn’t an  option so he tugged at the collar and loosened his tie, trudging on. It was only two miles. He could have taken a cab or the train, but the idea of being in an enclosed space with a stranger made his gut twist uncomfortably. At least out in the open he could run if he needed. 

The meeting was as brutal as usual. Not because his work was sub-par or because his supervisor was a pain. But because he was stuck in a small office on the 7 th floor of an office building with a door at his back. Neil bounced his leg and glanced behind him a dozen times in the two hours he was there. He listened to _ Gavin  _ drone on about clients and go over updated procedures and the highlights of the new software program they would be rolling out soon. When Neil was finally free he felt like he was soaked in sweat and his stomach muscles clenched painfully, threatening to spill his breakfast all over the pavement outside. But he made it. He counted his steps, muttered the aloud the colors of the passing cars and yanked off his tie to get a grip on the pendant at his neck. Sometimes he would stop a few other places on the way home since he was already out, but it hadn’t been a good night and he just wanted to get back to the safety of his apartment. 

He slept for three hours after getting home, the weight of his worry suffocating him with exhaustion. When he woke it was past dinner time and he wasn’t even hungry. He managed to force down a piece of toast with cream cheese and cucumber slices when he noticed the smoke outside, drifting past the glass. The sun was setting. 

King was already waiting for him when he went outside so he leaned down to scratch her ears before tending to the herbs in the planters. King, he learned, was also a girl. King  Fluffkins and Sir Fat Cat  McCatterson they were called. Somehow Andrew had managed to tell him with a straight face and looked thoroughly unamused when Neil laughed at him for a solid two minutes. Apparently, his cousin had given them their idiot names due to Andrew losing some sort of bet he didn’t bother explaining. It was his newest, favorite thing about Andrew. That someone with such a  hardened exterior owned soft, friendly animals with such whimsical names. 

After he went through the motions of watering his herb  plants he looked over to find Andrew watching him. He was eating a strawberry, his mouth curled around the seeded fruit and lips red. Neil felt a strange rush of warmth and felt his gut bottom out for some reason. 

“You...um, you like them then?”

A blond eyebrow  lifted and Andrew continued to watch him while he chewed. After he  swallowed he tossed the green stem off the balcony, not caring where it landed. Neil smirked. 

“What if that lands on  someone's head?”

Andrew shrugged and turned to lean on the railing, looking down. “It won’t kill them.”

Neil turned to mirror his position and took a deep breath, held it and let it out. “No. I guess it won’t.”

By the time Neil went to bed that night he felt settled, but as he should have known, good things never lasted. 

* * *

Four days. He hadn’t seen Neil in four days. It wouldn’t be so strange if it had been months earlier, but recently he’d seen him every day. Or at least some evidence of him. There would be a flower or a fruit on his balcony. His cats would come in the house smelling like unfamiliar aftershave. And now that he thought about it, he hadn’t heard anything either. Not that he usually heard anything from next door but if he listened  carefully he could sometimes make out the dull drone of the tv, the slap of feet on a treadmill or Neil talking to someone on the phone in a foreign language. On the fifth morning of his  neighbors mysterious disappearance, he decided to check the roof. Whenever he caught Neil making his way towards the staircase it was always early morning. So, at six am, after a sleepless night, Andrew clamored up the stairs. He hated stairs. He took the elevator to get to his own apartment but it was only two floors and one additional flight so he braved the stairs and jiggled open the broken lock. It was dark out but lights from nearby buildings provided enough visibility to make out his surroundings. 

After two steps onto the roof Andrew looked down, startled, having kicked a can across the concrete. Now that he looked, there were a bunch of cans. And bottles, and food wrappers and other disgusting things left by poor excuses for humans, no doubt. 

When he rounded the AC unit and approached the  ledge he noticed there were other things on the ground. Squashed vegetables, rotten fruit, wilted flowers. Andrew’s eyes snapped up to see Neil’s garden in shambles. The plants had all been destroyed and even some of the wooden beams that held the raised beds in place were starting to come apart in places – like they had been kicked or pulled until the nails gave. Andrew stepped closer and leaned down. There was one small sunflower still standing tall, untouched by the chaos. The sun breached the space between the buildings ahead and Andrew plucked the flower, spinning it between his fingers. It smelled like summer. 

Later that evening Andrew brought a handful of M&M’s with him outside. He lit a cigarette and tucked it between his lips before systematically chucking them at Neil’s glass door. It took about ten  minutes but Neil finally pulled it open and Andrew chucked the rest of the candy off the balcony. 

“You look like shit,” Andrew said bluntly, stubbing out the cigarette to lean over the railing towards Neil. 

The taller man frowned and let out a heavy sigh, stepping outside. He leaned forward on his own railing, facing the city. “Astute observation. Any other unwanted opinions to offer today?”

Andrew hesitated, scratching at the chipped, black nail polish on his fingers. “What are you going to do about the garden?”

Neil spun so fast Andrew almost recoiled at the movement. For a moment his icy blue eyes flashed with rage and betrayal, a whirl of emotions passing through like summer storm. But then his eyes deadened again, mouth going flat. He knew Andrew wasn’t the one who had destroyed the  garden. Neil turned back and resumed his leaning, facing away but his jaw remained tight. 

“Nothing” he said, quietly enough that it should have lacked emotion but Andrew could still hear the bitterness...the disappointment. 

“Nothing?”

Neil sighed again, turning around. His hands curved around the metal for a moment and he looked to Andrew once more. “Nothing. There’s no point. Nothing that’s good ever lasts.”

And then he was gone, leaving Andrew with his thoughts. 

* * *

Even though Neil was still trying to move past the destruction of the garden, he still had days where he closed himself off from everything. Where he focused only on what he had to do and not what he wanted to do. It was stupid really. The garden was just a hobby. It shouldn’t have affected him so much when someone took it away from him overnight. That someone had been so callous and thoughtless about something he’d built and nurtured with his own hands. 

Some days he managed to meet Andrew on the balcony in the evenings. They would stand there in silence or make mundane small talk about something frivolous. Some days he could barely drag himself from his couch, even when King and Sir meowed at his door. On those days he would just get up and close the curtains. 

On a Friday, exactly three weeks from his last visit to the roof, he stepped onto his balcony to find a bright, lime green sticky note taped to his side of the railing.  _ “Meet me on the roof at 8:30pm.” _ It might  caused a panic attack except the cursive _ ‘A’ _ underneath the note meant it was from Andrew. He checked his watch. It was 8:22 already. Neil bit his lip, weighing his options. He hadn’t been up there since the garden had been destroyed and didn’t really want to see his hard work laid to waste all over again. At 8:37, after a considerable amount of pacing across his living room floor, Neil finally crumpled the note in his hand and headed towards the hall. 

He climbed the stairs two at a time, rubbed his sweaty palms on his pants and chewed his bottom lip until it was red. The door was propped open but there was a shiny new lock on it, currently open and hanging from the latch. He pushed the door open and paused, surveying the space carefully. 

It was cleaner now. The mess from weeks before was gone and he could see a strange structure peeking out from around the edge of the AC. Neil counted his steps, breathing carefully. When he reached the open space he froze, staring in disbelief at the new scenery, mouth open in shock. 

Andrew was there, looking down at the phone in his hand with a bored expression. Behind him was a wooden structure. It was a few feet taller than Andrew himself and sturdily built, stained a rich, dark brown. It was built in the shape of a box and inside were three raised garden beds, bigger than the ones he’d had before and already laden with plants. Some sort of metal wire was wrapped around the enclosure but a door on the front was propped open with a large watering can. A lock dangled from that latch as well. 

“Andrew.”

It was all he could think to say. He had so many questions but the wheels in his brain had come to a screeching halt. 

Andrew’s head snapped up and he quickly shoved his phone in his pocket. He crossed his arms and Neil watched his armbands sliding one over the over. Andrew's pale biceps flexed between the bands and his dark charcoal colored shirt. Since he didn’t seem likely to burst into an explanation Neil stepped closer. 

He passed Andrew, walking slowly until he could enter the enclosure, looking around at the types of greenery. Some plants he  recognized, others were not something he’d grown before. At the back of the enclosure, attached to one of the cross beams, were small metal hooks. They held tools and supplies, some belonged to him, items he'd left behind when the old garden had been ransacked and others that looked new. He whipped back around towards the blond. 

“Who did all this?”

“The easter bunny,” said Andrew, voice flat and face impassive. 

Neil’s eyes narrowed and he clicked his tongue. Andrew sighed and rolled his eyes. He let his arms drop to his side to resume a more relaxed position as he approached. When he reached the front of the  enclosure he leaned against the beam. 

“Me. And my cousin, Nicky. He's staying with my brother for the summer. It’s too late in the season for some of the stuff you had but I got plants that were already producing fruit or vegetables or whatever so I’m sure you’ll figure these out too.”

Neil blinked owlishly. Scarred fingers idly touched the tops of a few budding roses. “But...why?”

Andrew had asked himself that question for three fucking weeks while he hauled materials back and forth with Nicky. Why was he going to such great lengths to protect something, to give something back to someone he barely knew? He still didn’t have an answer. Not really. 

Hazel eyes locked on blue and Andrew memorized every shade of Neil’s auburn hair, every fleck of color in his eyes and every freckle across his nose and cheeks. He burned the picture into his memory. And when he reached forward, hooking his fingers in Neil’s collar, Neil didn’t flinch. 

“Just because nothing good ever lasts does not mean we shouldn’t keep trying.”

* * *

Hours later, it was late enough that Andrew would regret it when he got up in the morning. At least his body would. His mind was spinning, thinking about the man with the auburn hair and blue eyes who’d looked at him like he’d given him the stars. It wasn’t his intention when he started building the new garden. He wasn’t sure he had any intentions at all. But it had been ....significant , whatever it was. 

They parted ways at the access door, Andrew giving Neil the extra key to the lock. It would likely be removed by maintenance when they found it but he would just buy another when that happened. 

Andrew locked the door behind  them and Neil gave him a private smile as he left, agreeing to come back the next night. Once he’d disappeared, Andrew detoured down down one flight of stairs to the 6th floor - following the hallway to apartment 608. He knocked on the door even though it was after midnight. He could hear voices and music  inside so he knew someone was up. 

After three rounds of pounding on the door someone finally answered the door. A heavy smell of weed and booze emanated from the room and Andrew wrinkled his nose at the smell. 

“Yea? What do you want dude?”

The man was five years younger than Andrew but had a foot of height on him, not that it ever stopped Andrew from getting in someone's face. 

“You must be Manny Cofield,” he had  all of the occupants faces memorized along with the details of their lives but pulled out a small notepad from his back pocket for added effect. “Marketing major at Boston University, sophomore.”

The guy shifted uncomfortably and straightened to his full height. “Yea...so?”

“ So. I know if  was you and your little friends who wrecked the garden. You won’t be going to the roof anymore, understand?”

“Who the fuck even  are you?” scoffed Manny. “If you’re not a cop and you don’t work here then get the fuck out of my face, shorty.”

He tried to close the  door but Andrew’s hand shot out and stopped it cold. 

“Not a cop, no. But I am a PI. And unless you want your college to find out about the DUI and sexual assault complaints from,” he made a show of checking his notepad, “ _ four  _ different women you went to high school with...not to mention the racist and homophobic bullshit you tend to post all over social media, I suggest you keep to yourselves.”

“You can’t...” he started. 

“I can. And I will,” said Andrew. He shoved the guy back into the apartment, hard, until a couch stopped his momentum. Several of his friends looked up from their video games to peer over the top. “Stay off the roof.”

He slammed the door and headed back towards the stairs. 

Andrew had spent years protecting his twin and his cousin from  any and all harm. Since he’d been on his own and his family was off living their own lives it was different. They didn’t need him anymore. He waded through the days waiting for something exciting, a wave to come and lift him off his feet so he could  _ feel  _ something again. Maybe it was because he was tired, exhausted from weeks doing hard labor in the sun. Weeks dodging the subject of his neighbor in his sessions with Bee. Late night thoughts rarely held up against the light of day, but right now he felt like  he was floating, and Neil was the ocean. 

**Author's Note:**

> Don't actually throw things off your balcony.


End file.
